St Claire's Hospital
by Ackerman
Summary: When Peter learns of his true identity, he still can't ignore that he shares a similar genetic make-up to that of the Walter in our reality. Rated for mental illness. R&R please :D
1. Chapter 1

Olivia bent down to sign herself in on the visitor's book that the wing guard pushed in front of her wordlessly. Astrid's signature followed and when they were quickly approved, the man pushed up off his seat, sighing, and unlocked the front gate for them. The senior agent held her breath like she always did as if she were stepping through to a new threshold when in actual fact, despite the many, many gates and wardens, the corridors were all the same. The patients, the therapies, the food, the treatments all screamed _sameness_.

And it wasn't altogether fair to the patient that they were visiting just as they visited him every week, because he couldn't be further removed from the place if he tried. His whole new existence inside St. Claire's hospital was a wholly inappropriate thing. But neither Olivia nor the Bureau could change that. At least without a viable next of kin so that they could appoint that person his legal guardian. But _she_ didn't seem at all too keen liberating him from the facility. After all, mental illness apparently ran right through his blood. Perhaps the world and he himself would be safer in such was the unforgiving detention.

"_You don't understand," Walter flew up. "He isn't... programmed like that. He doesn't think like us. He doesn't respond well to... he's just _different_."_

"_How is he different?" Olivia demanded, glancing at a worried Astrid. She folded her arms, looking back at Walter rather pointedly. "Well?"_

_Walter became frustrated, shaking his head and started pacing – pulling and banging at random things on his desk as he passed it back and forth, "He just is! I can't – you won't _ever_ understand. Even he can't, it's too much to ask of a person regardless of what they've seen or how bright they are. It's not – it's not, it's not."_

"_Not what, Walter?" Olivia refused to let him digress or hide behind his idiosyncrasies._

"_He isn't who you all think he is!" he snapped at last, tears welling in his eyes. Astrid's mouth hung open in incomprehensible shock, but Olivia didn't seem satisfied. It was far too dramatic a statement even by the wilting old scientist's standards not to press him on it. If he forgot himself, they may lose the topic forever._

A second guard escorted them down the white hallway, her heels clicking in front of the agents in a quick, rhythmic fashion. They followed silently, each to their own thoughts, each playing out the last argument that they wish they never had, the argument that would change everything for all of them as they knew it.

"_And who might he be?"_

"_He's Peter – he's still my Peter," Walter snarled angrily. "And I'm not going to let anyone take that away from me. Not on my life."_

"_Walter?"_

_Walter bent his head, his hands coming up to his face as he began to weep openly, "I didn't mean for any of this."_

"_What did you do, Dr Bishop?" Astrid asked slowly. "What – what did you do to Peter?"_

_Walter shook his head miserably, wiping at his nose, "He isn't my son."_

"_Walter," Olivia said carefully, trying to appeal to whatever ailing but brilliant part of his mind wasn't veiled by shattered memories. "The FBI has your file. I've read it myself. There was no mention... of you _ever_... adopting a child," she tilted her head to the side, frowning with concern, "I've seen his birth certificate."_

"_He isn't from this reality."_

The orderly stopped short of a heavy steal door and pulled out a set of keys. Olivia managed to make eye contact with the woman, taking in her flawless yet emotionless face and suppressed the urge not to roll her eyes at her and the damn system. She attempted a smile nonetheless but received, as ever, nothing in return. The door was unlocked. They were informed, as if they didn't know by now, that there was a canteen area down the hall they may wish to use, and that was that.

_Olivia nearly heaved at the admission, feeling her stomach drop immediately. She exchanged a glance with Astrid again and noticed that the junior agent didn't seem to be coping much better as they tried to wrestle with what they now knew. _

"_My son," Walter tried to clarify reluctantly, "was a very sick little boy and by the age of seven it was his time to go. And he went," he swallowed hard, "and he left me and we buried him. Me and Belly, we – we buried him unnoticed. No one could tell the difference. Not even his mother. But – but she isn't his mother. At least... well..."_

"_Peter... is dead?" Astrid asked, heat rising to her cheeks._

"_And everyone was allowed to believe that he had some miraculous recovery and it was all fine. There were some initial teething problems what with the crossover but – but we learned how to manage that. Him. We could manage him."_

"_Peter had another family," Olivia said coldly, causing Astrid to whip around to her. "This – this other son you took... he wasn't yours to take, Walter."_

"_I brought him home," Walter said, his lip trembling. "He wanted to come with me."_

"_He was seven, he was a _child_!" she raised her voice, horrified. "He didn't know what he was going home to! You were his father, Walter, how could you... how could you kidnap your own son?"_

"_I missed him!"_

"_No," Olivia said, her voice laced with disgust. "You replaced him."_


	2. Chapter 2

Astrid glanced once at Olivia and together they forced themselves into the small room, fixing their favourite patient with painfully tight smiles. He was sat on the bed as usual, staring right through them. Never at his little desk by the barred window and yellowed glass. There was a tray of untouched food just next to him and Olivia couldn't help but frown. Crossing to it and crouching down on her haunches, she picked up the plastic fork and attacked cold mash.

"Come on, Peter. You have to eat this," she said, hand poised near his expressionless face.

"You know, I've lost count how many times I've made official complaints to Mr Sumner that he's not being cared for correctly. I've asked repeatedly for a nurse to physically feed him. Nothing," Astrid vented, folding her arms. "You don't even need half of those damn drugs dulling you, Peter. You don't need to be here."

"Astrid," Olivia reminded gently.

"Well, he doesn't! He can talk too. I don't care if you're embarrassed about the slurring," she addressed him, "You can still talk to us."

"_You don't know what it's like to lose..." Walter stopped himself, choking up._

"_I've lost plenty," Olivia shook her head, trying to ignore the swelling pity she felt for the broken father._

"_But you've never had to bury your own little boy. He was my..." he struggled under the weight of his memories, bringing his arms around himself for comfort, "My baby, Agent Dunham. He was so sick towards the end, I couldn't bear to watch him. And he could see it too, the poor kid. Imagine being seven... and knowing... _knowing_ that you're going to have to die?"_

"_But imagine being that seven year old's father, Walter. Not his _other_ father, his _actual_ father. Imagine having to report him missing. Imagine having to live out all those years waiting for him to be back in your arms. Imagine the police having to assume that he's dead after no body is recovered by the time you yourself are incapacitated in St. Claire's."_

_Walter clenched his eyes shut as another wave of remorse washed through him, his whole body rocking with the burden of that knowledge. His fragile mind acted almost as a coping mechanism over the years as, from time to time, it offered him that respite. Just as having the living embodiment of his other son around him helped chip away at that long-suffering guilt too. Until, that is, he was forced to remember that this Peter wasn't what his Peter could have been because the two were not related._

"_That's two fathers a young boy was forced to live without, Walter. You didn't take him for a better life because you couldn't promise him that. You took him because you were sick with grief and it was understandable but selfish. Deeply, deeply selfish. You took him for yourself. But you couldn't have been able to give your whole self to him, could you? Because he wasn't your Peter. He was different. You said so yourself, he's different to us."_

"_I vowed to love that boy," Walter argued, hot tears streaming his face._

"_But he wasn't yours to love," Astrid reasoned, her voice sounding heartbroken even to herself. "He never was."_

"_But I _do_!" Walter pleaded, pulling his hands into fists by his sides. "And that's all that should count now. In his original reality – well – well, returning him there can't do him much good. It'll mess him up," he touched at a temple, "In the head. Believe me. Everything will be too bizarre for him to cope. Ignoring his relationship with me, even the little differences are too much for him to adjust to."_

"Unless his mother changes her mind..." Olivia sighed, trying again to coerce Peter into opening his mouth. "Please open up. For me?"

He blinked in front of himself and then made eyes at her. She smiled appreciatively, taking a bite of the over-cooked lumpy specimen of potato herself and then mmm'd with unconvincing enthusiasm. Astrid grinned and helped herself to Olivia's second forkful before they tried the technique on Peter again. He took the utensil into his hand but let it fall into his lap.

"I'll tell you what," Olivia smiled at Astrid whilst leaning in towards Peter's ear, whispering conspiratorially, "If you eat up all your dinner, you can have this chocolate bar we smuggled in just for you."

"Yup!" Astrid whole-heartedly concurred, raising an arm and showing him the proffered item slipping from her sleeve. "Waving an FBI badge about demands some degree of trust in our behalf. Didn't even get searched."

Peter cracked what they believed to be the shell of a smile and suddenly he was raising his lead arm up and stuffing his fork into his mouth himself. Astrid winked at her superior whilst beginning to unwrap the foil on the treat for him. Olivia took the fork back and scooped up more mashed potato before handing it back.

_Walter looked at them desperately, "Olivia please! You can't tell him any of this. He's not allowed to know. Look, look, think back to the start of all this. When you all realised that reality as you knew it wasn't exactly what it appeared to be. When you had to learn to re-evaluate everything you ever thought you knew because there was a whole world of possibilities out there that... that just... opened us up to so much more. If you could go back and live a normal life and not know any of the stuff that you've come to know, you can't say that that doesn't sound nice, am I right?" _

_Astrid inhaled deeply, "I agree, Dr Bishop, that some of the things I've come to experience in this lab have kept me up at night and... and being out of the loop like the rest of the world again... it would be... _nice_. But it would also be lying to myself."_

"_Astrid's right, Walter," Olivia agreed despairingly, her hand finding itself through her hair. "You can't expect us to keep a secret of such magnitude from him. But it isn't our job to tell him."_

"_Miss Dunham," he shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline. He's _not_ going back."_

"_Walter, no one's saying anything about sending him back-"_

"_The health repercussions alone are enough to back up my decision," he cut across her, becoming more lucid in the conversation now. "We all seen what became of Mr Jones. I don't want to end up with a mummified son. I'm not prepared to have a second one die on me. I'm just not."_

"_He still deserves to know," Olivia said with finality. "Just like all those other children you lied to – the Cortexiphan trials? You disturbed one too many childhoods, or at least, turned a blind eye to your lab partner doing so."_

"_I think what Olivia's trying to say," Astrid offered more kindly, trying to direct Olivia away from her own anger. She even went so far as to reach out for his hand, "Is that maybe it's not too late for Peter. No one's expecting him to understand, no one's expecting anything of him; and yes, he probably will hate you and he probably will..." she trailed off, no long knowing how much stock she had in her own argument._

"_It'll destroy him," Walter whispered. "I'm not asking you both to keep this to yourselves for my benefit. Hell, when you made him haul me out of the facility he didn't exactly hide his hatred well. In fact, he positively gloated about how much his life was better off without me in it. I just don't want him to be reminded of that. It isn't fair to anyone really. We all want that good relationship with our parents, don't we? But more so, we should have the right to our own identity. Please don't take that away from him."_

Astrid scooted over towards the desk and took it upon herself to sit down, her knees almost touching Peter's. Lifting a hand out towards him, she touched him at the arm, "Did you get out today? Did they take you out to the recreation room at all?"

He allowed his head to fall forwards a little so that he could avert his gaze to the floor, "I didn't want to."

Olivia set the tray down on the linen mattress and patted his knee, if a little condescendingly. Of course she knew full well that he was capable of conversing but that it often took him several minutes to come round to new faces – or faces at all considering how isolated he was even from the other patients and staff – before he was prepared to open his mouth, ever conscious that the anti-anxiety meds made him drool almost uncontrollably.

And thankfully her assistant was on hand, already dabbing at his chin with a tissue and smiling all the while.

_Olivia gulped before lifting her head resolutely, "If I... if this kind of information leaked out, it would be harder to justify to Broyles to leave Peter be like he was prepared to do with the mute boy we worked with. There would be too many people – the CIA for starters – hounding him to have access to Peter," she dropped her shoulders. "And regardless of whatever childhood you gave him and whatever he's been put through whilst on my team, he doesn't deserve to be experimented on again."_

"_He doesn't," Walter almost burst with excitement. "He – he won't be."_

_Olivia turned to Astrid momentarily and then strode out of the lab, banging through the doors post haste._

"_I don't think she's very happy with her decision," he acknowledged. _

"_No," the younger woman replied. "You've compromised her position as both a friend and a colleague, Dr Bishop. I dare say she'd be willing to forget that anytime soon."_

"_And what about you, Asper?" he asked timidly, with the onset of tears again. Astrid was still stuttering with the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air around them. She concluded that she was probably still in shock about the whole thing. Despite knowing Walter and his world in which he invited them to play in, this was just too much. Too close to home. Too possible._

"_Do you regret ever taking him?"_

"_Sometimes," he admitted quickly, nodding. "Sometimes when we're having a good day and not at each other's throats, it's easy to pretend that nothing ever happened. That this..." he waved a hand, happening to gesture to the project that Peter had slaved over for him, "was all meant to be."_

"_And then?"_

_The question lay there between them for perhaps two solid minutes until Walter cleared his throat and lifted his head, his eyes glassy and dim, "He has a grave I've been keeping tidy since I got out. I – I could show it to you if you wish?"_


	3. Chapter 3

Kneading her bottom lip between her teeth, Astrid felt herself staring at and pitying the pathetic scene in front of her as Olivia continued to force feed Peter his stale meal. Peter – someone she always secretly admired for being able to cling onto his humour, locating always the irony and perspective amongst the chaos and dysfunction around them all – was far from the man he once was. This new Peter didn't know how to be cocky, strong, anything. He didn't talk with his hands, in fact, he wasn't very talkative at all. He was borderline immobile. Much like the other Peter that drew him to this world to begin with: Walter's dead little pride and joy.

Sumner, the director of the hospital, had boasted about taking a special interest in Walter and therefore insisted that the son was no different and he knew just how to help him. He claimed that they both suffered from fantastical delusions beyond that of the norm even by St. Claire's standards. Apparently they were amber alert subjects, a level below suicidal. And that warranted Sumner to run Peter through extensive tests including trying him out on several high dosage sedatives and even electro-convulsive therapies.

The effects of which were obvious. He reminded them initially of Walter when he was first released into their care. His hands, like his father, twitched. His mind...

_Astrid stood in front of Peter's gravestone and she could literally feel the chunks beginning to rise up in her throat. It was a simple little granite fixture and the plot was secluded and peaceful. Atop the stone, a gold coin lay gathering dust. Walter stepped forwards, brushing it with his thumb before lifting it up and she wondered briefly if he could read her mind as well as pull people from other worlds and talk to the dead and invent time machines. It wouldn't surprise her if he could._

"_This was his," he said, turning it over in his hand, and holding it out to her. "He was always such a thoughtful little kid. Even the Peter we've both come to know. You wouldn't think it looking at him now, would you?"_

"_I think he can be very considerate," she agreed, not daring to touch the dead child's revered possession. Sensing her reservation, Walter closed his hand over the coin and retracted his arm again, pocketing the thing quietly._

"_Do you really think..." he sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. "If he was somehow to find out. Or other people. Do you really think people would want to experiment on him? It's not like he's an alien or something radically different like that. He's just a... a 'what if.'"_

"_I don't know," she frowned, not wishing to think about Peter's options. "If Broyles hadn't pulled strings to hide that kid away in foster care, there were other government officials waiting to take him off our hands..."_

"_But that little boy came to us from underground and – and he could engage with Olivia and he was a strange little thing. Of _course_ someone higher was going to take notice. No one will notice Peter."_

"_He did spend the majority of the decade off the radar," she smiled weakly. "Dr Bishop..."_

"_Yes?"_

"_Say you _were_ to lose Peter all over again, say, well, say someone did come for him. Or say he got sick again..."_

"_What are you trying to insinuate?" Walter snapped impatiently, glaring at the gravestone between them both._

_She took a deep breath, "Did you really take him just to serve as a replacement son? I mean, if... well, if something were to happen all over again and – and you were able to go into a separate reality where some other Peter is living happily... would you be prepared to replace the Peter _I_ know?"_

Astrid blinked twice, feeling her eyes welling up as a memory took over her seemingly from nowhere. She didn't mean to be daydreaming, but she couldn't help it. Even if her daydreams weren't nice things to entertain lately, they still seemed a damn sight better than watching Olivia practically spoon-feeding a fully grown, otherwise capable man.

Remembering her place, she used the same tissue she had for his constant drooling to clean some food residue spilled down his front and at the corners of his mouth. He tried to turn away from her, his eyes... well, there was something about his eyes. Something missing behind them. No mischief, no humour, no intelligence. No wonder Walter had been so tortured – a genius having little to no access to his own mind must be an entirely new kind of prison. And she couldn't deny that he was imprisoned. Imprisoned inside the reality he wasn't born into; imprisoned inside St Claire's for knowing better; imprisoned inside his own body due to the aftermath of Sumner's treatments.

_Walter didn't need to think about this, it was already plaguing him. Had been for years. Coming forward a step, he dropped an arm over the top of the headstone, leaning over it to shade himself from her. His chin lowered until it was touching his chest and, with a drop of the shoulders, he felt his whole body deplete. His lip shook first and then the tears followed, accompanied with raspy breaths._

"_Dr Bishop, I'm sorry, I..."_

"_I was wrong to do what I did," he sniffed, hugging the last vestiges of his first born. "For years... even now, then, I mean... when I was explaining to Peter about the soft spots between the different realities I nearly told him there and then. He was so... concerned about me. About all this. I told him something was taken from me and I crossed over to take back that which belonged to me. But he wasn't a possession to be stolen or bargained or anything, was he?"_

"_I guess not," she offered whether he was being rhetorical or not._

"_I didn't mean to replace you, son," he promised, talking to the grave alone. "I swear I didn't. You were the same to me. I... I wasn't thinking."_

"_Dr Bishop, perhaps we should be getting back to the lab. Peter-"_

"_I didn't mean for any of this. For your death, for you not having a proper funeral. I'm so, so sorry sweetheart."_

"_It's okay," Astrid tried to sooth._

"_I honestly did miss you, boy. It – I guess to most it does look like I replaced you. But not a day... not a day goes by..." he broke down again, sobbing bitterly. Astrid reached out for him but he shrugged away from her violently, as if she were intruding upon a moment between just him and his son. "And I promise you, dear boy, that I won't... I will _not_ replace your brother. I'll protect him like I should have done you."_

"_I'm sure he understands."_

"_I doubt either of them ever will."_

Tilting her head to one side, Astrid tried to catch his deadened eyes again. Olivia was momentarily happy with their progress with regards his dinner. Stretching upwards, she passed her colleague the tray and sat next to Peter on the bed.

"Okay, I think you've had enough," the blonde announced as optimistically as she could. "I wonder if he deserves that chocolate bar now, Astrid? What do you reckon?"

"I do," he mumbled, holding up a hand with effort.

"Oh, he does," Astrid chuckled, leaning in for him. He snatched at it with greedy hands and consumed his first bite not two seconds too soon.

"Chew properly, Peter. We don't want you choking again," Olivia said firmly. "It's that kind of behaviour that gets us caught sneaking you in all these little treats."

"Bring root beer," he demanded tonelessly.

"Next time, you mean?"

He said nothing, leaving them to assume that he wasn't disagreeing with the prompt.

"And is there room for a _please_ in that sentence, Peter?" Astrid teased him. He expelled a very intended sigh and then returned his already varied attention to the chocolate. "Oh, I'll take that as a no then, shall I?"

"Take whatever you want," he slurred, eliciting genuine smiles from his female company. Perhaps the drugs were beginning to wear off a little. "But not..." he tried to swallow back the saliva building again in the base of his mouth, "...my chocolate bar."


	4. Chapter 4

Olivia couldn't deny a second smile at the childish quip, watching Peter with warm eyes as he tried to safeguard the rest of his chocolate bar from Astrid. Every day he was becoming more and more like the Walter they wished had rightfully raised him. Neither men would be so indisposed today if there wasn't some alter-Walter somewhere else. _Their_ Walter, despite his faults, his indiscretions, they couldn't exactly blame him. Olivia herself was prepared to go to the ends of the earth (or mind) and back again just to have that last conversation with John Scott, so why should Dr Bishop's cause be any different to that? He wasn't trying to reconnect with a traitor, he was convinced he was giving new life into his only child. And who could fault him there?

She wasn't even sure if Peter still hated the man for it. If he still hated himself. Because the truth was, he didn't have much time for a reaction. As soon as everything came to the forefront of everybody's attention, St. Claire's appeared to be his equivalent of the mute boy's foster home – forms were signed and he was swept away and drugged and practically forgotten quicker than he knew to defend himself. Tarred with the same brush as his father. His father with that disconnected lineage, that bloodline lie.

"_Sir, you're not listening to me," Olivia demanded firmly and desperately, standing in front of Broyles' desk. He sighed, looking up from the drawn-up documents, already wet with the ink of his name. "If you lock him up in some – in some hospital – some mental institute we – we lose Walter as well. Our team? Gone. One won't work without the other. You _know_ that!"_

"_Dunham," he said coolly, "I was already under the impression that Bishop wasn't prepared to work with his father anyway. They were always hostile time bombs, do you seriously think that they can learn to work around something like this?"_

"_I admit that it'll be hard," Olivia flustered, "But-"_

"_Look," he sighed again, trying to appear compassionate, or, at the very least, empathetic, "I know that losing Peter will be a massive blow to the fringe division and if that means losing Dr Bishop too then..." he sucked in a breath._

"_Walter _needs_ Peter, sir."_

"_We already cleared it that the Bureau itself can serve his guardianship – you knew that months ago."_

"_Then why can't we take Peter into custody too?"_

"_Because if he had a history of mental illness it would be much more simple, wouldn't it? I expect that you already know the same faction of the CIA Directorate of Science and Technology who came for that... bald child have information out on him. They're wanting me to turn him over to them, Dunham."_

_Olivia inhaled through her nose and shifted her feet on the floor. She was trying to keep a reign on her anger, knowing now that it wasn't fair if she were to blow up at Broyles for ultimately trying to protect Peter in the only way he knew fit._

When Peter finished his chocolate bar, he let Astrid without reproach take his hands into hers and clean his palms for him. Olivia had to envy the young woman because she fell into their new role gracefully. Of course it got to her, it got to everyone involved that he seemed to be wasting away here. And wasting away he was. There had never been an inch of fat on him before, but now he appeared _too_ slim. Sometimes one of them would lift the hem of his hospital-issued shirt up out of curiosity, just to see if his ribs were still emphasised when he breathed. And it annoyed them – troubled them – that they couldn't be sure if he was getting adequate sustenance on the days that they weren't able to visit him.

But despite the obvious, the _being here_, Astrid was able to deal with everything in a dignified and selfless manner. For Olivia, visiting him alone was effort. And sometimes she wanted nothing more than to just hit a random bar in town and drink to his memory. But she knew that if it were the other way around, he would do this for her. She'd have issues keeping him away.

"_What do you suggest? That we warn him, give him a little head start? That won't matter because they'll catch him when he runs. And in the unlikely event that they don't catch him? You can rest assured that he'll be running for the rest of his life."_

"_So, what? You expect me to lie my way through CIA interrogation? To that guy Eliot Michaels?"_

"_No one's asking anyone to lie," Broyles said with a hint of irritation. "And no one's against you here. Well, you won't find opposition from these quarters anyway. But yes, I'll be handing over whole reports on Peter's... deterioration. Hallucinations. Episodes."_

"_Halluca – episodes?" Olivia fumed, bringing her hands to rest solidly on his desk. "Sir, I am _not_ going to be party to some underhand cover-up just to fast track him through undergoing psychiatric evaluation."_

"_If he isn't admitted immediately, Michaels' case isn't collapsible."_

"_You've as good as signed his rights away from him if you leave him to vegetate in that – in that hospital, sir," she added more gently, remembering that despite everything Broyles was still her superior. "How is that any different to-"_

"_Oh, believe me. He'd rather be a mental patient than a test subject."_

"_He'll be a test subject anyway! Or as good as."_

"_Agent Dunham, I don't care very much for your tone," he reminded her. "Now I've made my decision. Wouldn't you rather he was under supervised care in a place where you may visit him freely if you so wish? In a place where he'll reside indefinitely instead of being taken away to God knows where with God knows what being done to him for – well, forever?"_

"Peter," she said, trying to take a leaf right out of Astrid's book and treat him less like a child even though they couldn't exactly ignore his new dependency on them. "I'm not trying to be cruel in any way but..."

Astrid glanced at her with wide eyes, remembering the last time they pushed the subject of the outside. Or of Walter. Or of St. Claire's. But he himself didn't seem to care. He didn't grunt, he didn't look away. He sat there stoically, much like he always did. Waiting for her to continue.

"We've been talking, Astrid and I, and we were wondering," Olivia started nervously, "If... you being here was... was working out?"

Peter shifted a little, weighing up the possibility that he may not have heard her correctly. He fought with himself not to sigh at her.

"I don't mean that how it sounds, of course you aren't content here. Who could be? But more specifically, if we just accept for the time being that you are here and that's that," she dropped her head sorrowfully, unable to address him if she had to look at that same impassive face again. "Do you think you're being cared for properly?"

"We're not asking for a medical opinion," Astrid jumped in quickly. "None of us are qualified to make such assumptions."

"But you should know yourself," Olivia continued, "if you're being handed meals and left to your own devices even when the nursing staff know that you have trouble... feeding yourself."

"Or going to the toilet," Astrid added gently, nodding to him. Watching him blush and then having to watch his lower lip quiver was probably one of the saddest things that would stay with her in life. Next to seeing Walter crying over that young boy's grave.

_Olivia looked crestfallen, but at the same time she couldn't argue with that._

"_I know this sounds callous," Broyles apologised softly as she straightened up away from his desk, clenching her jaw and folding her arms. "And trust me when I say that it wasn't the easiest decision I've ever had to call. But I honestly think it would be better if we were able to monitor him this way. For his sake as well as ours."_

"_If he did run away..." she prompted weakly._

"_Let me ask you something," Broyles crossed his hands over his desk. "If he didn't receive medical... attention, if we sent him on his merry little way and told him to keep his head down because there were people outside of whatever gang he was initially hiding from out after him, if..." he paused, raising an eyebrow at her, "if he were left to deal with all of this information on his own – this reality news – do you think he would have the tools to cope? He always seemed a very self-destructive figure to me, especially when I first encountered him."_

"_He wouldn't do anything stupid," she said almost to herself, fearing immediately of suicide._

_Broyles lifted a shoulder, "Who's to know?"_

Olivia felt tears springing to her own eyes and she almost prayed that he were that same impassive person again. For some reason that impassivity seemed a hell of a lot more easier to deal with than having to sit beside him knowing that your words and your actions had reduced him to silent tears.

With much effort, Peter lifted a hand into his lap and plucked at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms so that the material made a snapping sound against his skin, "I have a catheter," he slurred, his tongue thick in his mouth. "And I don't like the feel of it."

Astrid gave him a watery smile.

"And I just want to be myself again, 'Livia."

* * *

**Just to answer NightwishFan's Q, I have indeed seen the remake lol. I think I always sort of just kicked that last scene about my head - the idea of an otherwise strong (well) or flawed character being institutionalised and what that might be like for that person. And what with the Jackson link and the whole insanity of Walter I thought it might be an angle worth exploring for a while lol. So, yes, I too picture Peter as... Ben, was it? Minus the ghost, of course ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

Olivia drew Peter's hand away from his waistband, closing her own over his and caressing him along the knuckles. He tried to pull his lips into a smile for their benefit but even his facial muscles felt slack to him, leaving him seriously doubting whether he was managing to smile at all. He was probably resembling more of a grimace if anything. A palm came about his face and he slid his eyes to Astrid, but she was kneading that same tissue between her hands. Realising that it was Olivia touching his cheek, he half-smiled his best again. She wiped a sliver of drool away from his chin with her bare hand and then palmed the side of his face again.

"You _are_ yourself, Peter," she whispered, rubbing a thumb along his bottom lip, still with her other hand holding him. "Do you hear me?"

He bent his head, not wanting to believe her. Because in his mind, although lacking as it was, it was something of a dent to his ego that he could be confused as being the same person to her now and pre-St. Claire's. This wasn't him. He didn't want to be this person. And even more so, he couldn't be sure if he ever actually was himself. Outside of the hospital or otherwise. He had been living another Peter's life and it was hard to differentiate between where he supposedly began and the boy was meant to finish. The borrowed life had eventually caught up with him – or Walter, really – and completely eradicated everything for him as he knew it. All of his experiences, all of his conquests, all of his achievements _and_ failures were brought into question now, destined to play out over and over and over again in his tired, aching mind. Did he have rights to his own beliefs and memories? His own moods? He didn't know. And not knowing things had always been a nasty pet hate for him.

"I know that this is hard on you," Olivia said softly. "Because you're used to... you're like me, you need to find the answers to things. The mystery, the possibility, it doesn't excite you like it does Walter. You don't like being confused and maybe because of your intellect, you're even more confused than the rest of us..."

Peter glanced down at his hand, noticing that she had now let go and on a gentle frown he wondered when this had happened because he certainly didn't feel the physical absence at the time.

"You're able to approach this from a million different angles than we know to think about and you're turning up about a million new questions," she acknowledged, taking his hand again as if she had read his mind. That same hand was twitching, reminding him of today's session with Sumner. Astrid and Olivia's inquiry into how well he was being cared for was sweet but unnecessary. Because he didn't really care when they left him by himself for long periods in his room, he had enough trouble understanding himself in this reality let alone dealing with the rest of them.

_Peter tried to struggle against the two male orderlies as they forced him onto his back on a stiff wooden table which acted as a bed just because of the sheet draped over it and the lumpy pillow fixed beneath his head. Once they had successfully wrestled him onto it, one of them, a burly sort, pinned down on him so that the other could fasten his flailing arms with restraints around the wrists, tying him effectively to the bed. They moved away from him, never speaking, and he was left to kick and shout about never consenting to this in the empty room._

_But it wasn't empty for very long. Mr Sumner was all-of-a-sudden standing next to him at the head of the bed, smiling a patronising smile. He turned his head briefly, gesturing forwards a young nurse and she stepped into Peter's view pushing a mobile trolley with a large syringe, a headband, various electrodes and a rubber mouthpiece._

"_Not this week," Peter whined, "Please... sir."_

"_But you say that every week, Bishop. Just like your father."_

"_I'm not like my father," he tried to promise. "I – I don't need to be here."_

"_I seem to remember another time when you were cocky enough to assume who was medically unfit and who was not. You argued black and blue that Walter didn't need to be here either. Such a fall," the director sneered. "And trust me, I've studied your file. I'm surprised you weren't carted off years ago."_

_On the days that Peter was scheduled to undergo his ECT, Sumner made a point of making himself available to oversee the practice. He also reduced Peter's medication so that he may have more awareness, justifying that sessions would be much more productive if he wasn't so comatose. But it seemed a cruel trick that he was allowed to be deadened around visiting hours, the only thing that he secretly looked forward to in this place, and that he was reawakened during the most gruelling hours._

"_Is this what this is about? Are you getting some sick kind of satisfaction from me being here? I'm not _meant_ to be here. I'm not meant to be here at all!"_

"_Again with the assumptions," Sumner chuckled, reaching for the top buttons of Peter's shirt and undoing them for him. "Tell us – I'm just curious – about this whole other place you're meant to frequent."_

Peter slipped his hand free from Olivia's grip and dropped both palms onto his knees. He hung his head again and his breaths quickened.

"Peter? Is everything okay?" he heard her asking him. She sounded alarmed. Or disheartened. Either way she wasn't pleased that he had been the one to break their contact this time and he couldn't ignore the small sense of accomplishment at, for once, being able to control someone else.

"Why didn't you try with me more?"

"Excuse me?" Olivia demanded, her voice rising.

"I'm here because of you," he accused, trying to be harsh about it. But _his_ voice, when relayed back to himself, was still a monotonous tone void of emotion. Much like the rest of him at the minute. And it didn't help either that whilst he was trying to be threatening and deliberately closed-off, he could feel a cold trail of saliva dribbling from his chin to his collarbone and further down the neckline of his pyjama shirt along his chest. He assumed Astrid would be on-hand as usual to clean him, but she seemed too frozen to react.

"Peter..." the blonde tried to form a response but the words failed her prematurely.

"She won't help because I remind her of him," he glared down at himself, talking of his parents and not knowing any better that such a thought was too random for them to follow him. "But it was you two who... you let them take me away."

"Other people were coming for you. Weren't they Astrid? They – they would have exploited you because of who you are."

"But I don't know who I am. I don't even know what I am," he talked slowly. "They'd be doing me a favour if they tried to find out." Astrid managed to catch his eye and smiled at the statement. He smirked back at her momentarily and closed his eyes. "Why... why can't I go home with you today? You could pretend I'm Charlie. Just for today or something. I'll be Charlie and Peter will be sleeping."

"Oh, Peter!" Olivia reached immediately for his hand again, taking his left into her own lap. "It doesn't work that way... sweetheart."

"But I can keep secrets," he said, leaning against her. "And you owe me."

_With his eyes welling up, Peter turned away from Sumner and the nurse. He felt immense anger that the man's continuous taunting of his world and of Walter affected him so severely. He was never one for crying but St. Claire's messed with his head and personality in a way that even Walter never could. And he didn't understand why he was still protective of his father, why there was still residual love there that hadn't yet subsided. He spent a lifetime happily hating the man. But this last year, working with him, understanding him, something shifted between them and he had to admit that he liked it._

"_Your old man," Sumner said breezily, fiddling with another button, "He lived more inside his own head than he did the real world. But you... you're one step further, aren't you? Peter here," he addressed the nurse, "never was apart of the real world, you see. Oh no, he's much too good to walk around with the likes of us. The poor boy's from _another_ world. If _ever_ someone belonged in this hospital..."_

"_I don't!"_

"_You're as crazy and dangerous as Walter and I'm going to personally see to it that you never leave," Sumner warned him. "Now shut up and open your mouth," he picked up the mouthpiece, leaving the nurse free to attach the electrodes to his bare chest. "I said open _up_!"_

_Peter pulled against his restraints again, kicking his legs out when Sumner grabbed at his jaw and tried to force him to bite down on the thing. In the commotion, Peter sunk his teeth instead into the skin of the director's finger, drawing blood. Sumner exclaimed some profanity or other and the crack of his backhand across Peter's face rang throughout the room. The syringe was raised and he was injected with a strong sedative in the upper arm and he couldn't remember much thereafter._


	6. Chapter 6

Olivia squeezed Peter's hand before pulling back to wrap an arm around him. His head slumped towards her and if he hadn't started gently rocking himself backwards and forwards she thought he might fall asleep. Releasing a breath, but not totally in relief, she was just glad that they had managed to nip in the bud him directing his frustrations at them, even though he had every right to blame them. Well, her. The full story of how he came to be was never properly relayed to him because everything just happened so quickly. But he was made aware of the evidence used against him. That kind of betrayal in itself clawed at him for weeks before he was prepared to let them in again. In truth, he merely grew bored of being lonely when he stopped refusing them visiting rights.

"I didn't think you liked Charlie anyway," Astrid said casually, trying to reach him. Peter shifted a little to look at her, but he was still cuddling against Olivia almost like a child might his mother. Astrid sighed lightly and then fixed him with a false smile, realising that he was reverting back to the more reticent him. "The last time we brought him along you didn't open up to any of us."

"He was the same with Broyles though. Maybe it was because they were noticeably nervous about meeting him like this. He might have felt threatened," Olivia suggested, tilting her head a little to try to look at his face. She mouthed to Astrid if he was sleeping and the woman stalled for a moment before shaking her head.

"Nearly though," Astrid whispered. "Peter, are you tired? Do you want to lie down?" He shook his head no, but barely, and in the same second his eyes closed over again and his breathing levelled out slowly. "Mmm... now," she grinned, sitting forwards to help tend to him.

"_'Liv, hold up, will you?"_

_Olivia snapped around aggressively when someone caught onto her elbow. She opened her mouth, preparing for an onslaught of threats should he try to halt her again but one look into his eyes made her defence crumble._

"_Charlie..." she felt lost. Hurt. "This is just so..."_

"_I know," he said cautiously, inching towards her. "I know it is. But you mustn't blame yourself."_

"_Blame myself?" she flew into a rage again. "Charlie, they're using documents and reports from the fringe cases that _I_ compiled and twisting it all! All that work he did for me, all those pattern-related crimes he helped to solve, they're denying them and actually – they – all that evidence he himself helped to gather, all the evidence from the cases, all that knowledge, they're using it against him as if it was some sort of figment of his blurred imagination. They even had him write a few reports himself – had me pretend that I couldn't cope and he offered to lend me a hand and – and – and I encouraged him! I encouraged him, Charlie. I played him. Knowing... knowing what I know."_

"_But you did what you thought was best. You were only following Broyles' orders."_

"_So now I should sleep easier at night?" she said sarcastically. "Did you know that his voice is even recorded on tape documenting something or other and the sound bite was taken and deliberately brought to the board just to pretend that he was outright insane?"_

"_It's... horrible," he agreed weakly._

"_You know," she sniffed, lifting her chin defiantly. "He never asked for any of this. Any of it. He was pulled into this world so many times. Literally and... relatively speaking. Walter brought him here, kidnapped him. And me? I blackmailed him. And it makes sense, thinking about it now, all his running. He was always... _always_ running. He didn't know how to stay rooted in anything. He was never meant to grow or flourish in this environment at all."_

Olivia tried to lean away from him without him falling against her. She carefully freed her arm from around him so that Astrid could lay him down slowly on the mattress. Standing, Olivia then lifted each of his legs up and onto the bed and tucked him up with a white blanket that had been folded neatly in the bottom corner against the wall.

"Do you think he knew that today was his birthday?" Astrid asked, standing over him.

Olivia sighed heavily, coming to stand at the head of the bed. She brought a hand to his forehead and pushed his hair back, bending down to kiss him affectionately.

"We agreed not to make a mention of it," the blonde shrugged a shoulder, "if _he_ didn't. There's no real reason for him to have known anyway. He can't count the days of the week let alone work out the dates. They tell him nothing here. And they rarely let him out of this room compared to the other inpatients so I doubt he has much of a handle on day and night as well."

_Olivia ran a hand through her hair, wanting nothing better than to run just like Peter. Away from the conversation and away from the Bureau and Boston and the Pattern and everything else that didn't just touch her life but had a funny way of wrapping itself right around her, affecting everything and anyone she happened to hold close._

"_He's being punished, Charlie, for something that was done to him so long ago – years ago. His childhood. Something that he had no recognition of, something that wasn't his fault. I promised his father this wouldn't get out. But now everything has just escalated."_

"_But you believed that you were doing the right thing when you came to Broyles with this," Charlie reminded compassionately. "No one can blame you if you were convinced that you weren't in the wrong. Besides, if Broyles wasn't informed and the crossover procedure went ahead... he mightn't even be alive, 'Liv. He might just owe you a thank-you."_

_Charlie watched her tense up immediately and wondered what he could have said that may have been misinterpreted as being even remotely insensitive. _

"_What I mean is... uh... we don't know what would have happened if he were made to go through the portal-thingy again."_

"_Portal-thingy?" she raised an eyebrow, letting go of his choice of words as merely coincidental. He couldn't have known that she and Peter shared a similar conversation way back when; one of their first conversations now that she thought about it. Certainly the first conversation where she realised he wasn't so bad. "You're so ignorant yourself to most of this. You're lucky that way."_

"_I'll take that," he nodded, averting his eyes to the floor and rocking on his heels, unsure of how to continue._

"_We located his_ _parents," she added matter-of-factly. "Which was incredibly hard considering we couldn't exactly just get a team on it."_

"_You talk to them?"_

_She shook her head, "Divorced three years after their only son disappeared. Mother started up a foundation for missing children and Walter, he..." she frowned, smirking wryly. "Well, he absorbed himself in his work. Oddly, he actually _was_ a chemist working out of Harvard doing research for a toothpaste company."_

"_So Peter really could have had a better life if he was left alone?"_

_Olivia thought back to her argument with Broyles, remembering his apprehension of Possibility, "Who's to know?"_


	7. Chapter 7

Olivia strode purposefully across the hotel lobby, nodding briefly to the man at the front desk. By the time she had arrived at the elevator and the doors parted for her, tiredness finally hit her and she was glad that she hadn't taken the stairs. Punching in the floor number, she leant against one of the metal rails and expelled a long breath. She brought a hand to the nape of her neck and tried to massage a knot there until the jingle of a bell signalled that she had reached her floor all too soon.

She covered the distance from the elevator to the hotel room door in three easy strides and cut her key-card across the swipe mechanism. It activated with a little click and green light, and in she went.

The room itself was in semi-darkness save for the muted television in the main room. There was a little coffee table in front of the surprisingly comfortable three-piece suite and there lay Walter in a dressing gown with his feet up.

"Ah, Olivia..." he greeted, moving cushions for her to sit next to him. She smiled and took a seat in the single armchair just facing him. "I'm watching... well, it's about aircrafts."

_Walter fell heavily into the plastic chair Olivia had pulled out for him. He withdrew back like a scared pup, his vision obscured with tears as he followed her with his eyes silently when she moved around the table to sit opposite him. She cleared her throat and pushed his copy of a contract towards him, helpfully stapled together at the top._

"_You just need to sign it here... and here..." she directed, leaning over the table and pointing to two large Xs. "Then turn over the page and there's another bit... here..." she pointed again when he leafed through the thing._

"_If I sign this," he gulped, "then this all becomes lies, doesn't it?"_

"_It's not lies. The work that we're doing, it isn't lies Walter."_

"_But we're saying that it is! We're saying that Peter's lying."_

"_We're in breach of confidentiality regarding above top secret information if we defend him here, Walter. You were contracted from the very beginning to protect-"_

"_If I sign this, I'm basically saying that I believe my son is delusional! I know what it feels like to be deemed mentally unfit to stand trial. It's... it's so lonely, Olivia. You don't know the cost of trust, you don't know what it's like when that's suddenly snatched away from you. _Everyone_ turns away from you. They all just stop caring."_

"_You know that's not true."_

"_Well, it feels that way," he lamented. "It feels like just one huge synchronous switch-off. Once you're inside, once you're sent away, they _do_ things to you," he touched his head, his jaw clenching as he battled to hold back a fresh peel of tears. "They switch you off."_

"_Walter, please..."_

"_And everyone on the outside," he held onto the documents with an iron grip, his knuckles white with effort, "they switch off too. Move on... forget. They spend their life trying to forget." _

"How are you Walter?"

"Oh, you know..." he tried to sound casual but she could see right through him. He knew exactly where she had been and she knew exactly which way their conversation would go, just as it always did. "Uh, and how is Peter? You went to see him today, yes?"

"Just now," Olivia concurred, inhaling as she felt her resolve slipping already.

"Did – did he ask – no, no never mind. Of course he didn't," he started to ramble, shaking his head. "Of course not. No, no."

"Walter," she said, looking at him with warm eyes. She didn't know if she had the strength to continue counselling both father and son inside the very same day, constantly alternating between the pair, offering them that shoulder to cry on. She was beginning to crack under the weight of the both of them – both vying for her attention, using her and Astrid to cling onto each other perhaps without even realising it themselves.

"Please Olivia. You'd tell me the truth, wouldn't you?" he asked, his voice small and child-like. "If he wasn't... of course he isn't. I know what it's like there. It's a nightmare. I wouldn't send my worst enemy there – but a son? And it _was_ me who sent him there... essentially..."

"He's," she paused, swallowing thickly, "being well looked after. He got his hair cut, it's a little trimmer at the sides and he... he was talking away," she embellished. "He ate his dinner all up. He has a strong appetite."

"He's allergic to nuts, do they know that? Did you tell them that?"

"They know all that, Walter."

"And – and he gets very thirsty in the middle of the night. Every night he'd wake up for a drink of water," he explained with urgency. "I used to hear him. Usually about three or four o'clock. You should tell them to keep him a fresh jug of water in his room at _all_ times. We don't need him getting dehydrated, not in his condition."

"Condition..." she mulled over, that was certainly one way of putting it. "He's fine, Walter. He seems to be responding well to-"

"To what? His _treatments_?" Walter spat. "He doesn't need _treated_. Just like I didn't. They'll ruin him. That place, that place is going to ruin him!"

_Olivia turned the page for him from where she was sitting once he completed both signatures on the front of the document. His hand was shaking when he trailed a messy W. Bishop after the third and final X and when he was finished, he dropped the pen down like it had burned him._

"_We _will_ be protecting him this way, Walter," she pulled the paperwork towards her and tried to remain composed when he collapsed immediately onto his folded arms across the table, weeping and hyperventilating as if he was in the privacy of his own bedroom with not a soul around to judge him._

"_I just signed my son away," he cried. "All the lengths I went to... only get rid of him again. It wasn't meant to end like this, Olivia."_

"_You'll still-"_

"_I'll not be allowed to see him! You think he'll want me to see him? He'll not want to see _me_. Not after... not after what I did. He... he's someone I'll never get to see again. Just like my other child."_

"Yeah, well," Olivia lifted a shoulder. "There's not much we can do about that really, is there?"

"Because of that..." Walter pushed himself up from the sofa and started pacing about the coffee table. "She's just doing this to spite me, you know! It must have really hurt her when she found out that not only had he been to see me in the asylum, but got me out and then started working with me. He's the only thing we share between us and she's punishing him for it just to get back at me. Showing him what you get for playing with _daddy_."

"Walter, I seriously doubt-"

"Oh, you don't know Peter's mother," he raised a finger. "You don't... you don't know how she can be with him."

"I've never heard him say a bad word about her."

"She was good to him," he didn't deny. "But she knew how to use the kid. Every argument we ever had, he was pulled into it. Me spending so long at the lab really got to her, you see. She knew I had a female assistant. She wasn't really the jealous type, but I'm sure her mind did wander. She'd make a point of promising him things on my behalf; every time I was away doing this or that for work. Just so's I'd have to answer to the kid, so it was _me_ drying his tears, so she didn't have to deal with him, I suppose."

"She didn't want kids?"

"She wanted a soccer team," he smiled. "We always wanted a big family."

"So what happened?"

"One miscarriage before Peter and two after. After that people just sort of... learn to count their blessings really. I mean, we did try but..."

"Peter's a credit to you, Walter."

"Is he?" he asked tearfully. "You seen him. You see him fairly regularly. Is he really?"

"Yes," she forced a smile and nodded. "You'd be impressed with how he's holding up."

_Olivia hesitated before bringing an arm across the table between them and touching Walter gently on the shoulder. She rested her hand there, thinking of all the times that he had been there for her. Never judging her when she resorted to the deprivation tank time and time again. Never doubting her when she was first connecting with Nick Lane in her dreams. It was an odd sort of co-dependant relationship their division had built up. Walter was like the father to a bunch of misfits: the criminal-genius son, the obsessive-compulsive cop and the diligent family friend; and yet, he was the biggest child out of all of them. And probably the most vulnerable._

"_I can't lose another son, Olivia," he explained, his voice muffled against the arm of his sweater._

"_I promise you, if we give it time, enough time... one day, maybe not one day soon, but one day... he'll be ready to talk to you again. He'll have questions for you and you'll have to be strong for him."_

"_He won't."_

_She sighed, wishing he'd lift his head up from the table, "We've arranged for you to continue living at the hotel, Walter. Same room. That doesn't have to change. The only difference is Peter won't be your legal guardian. For obvious reasons. So there'll be an agent there to pick you up each morning and drop you off at the lab. That'll give you more independence, I think. It'll be good for you. And it's better than uprooting you completely and taking you away from your comfort zone, isn't it?"_

"_All of his clothes are still back at the hotel. His stuff. His phone. That... music thing he listens to."_

"_If you want to keep his iPod," she chuckled knowingly, "I'm sure no one would find out."_

"_I knew someone would come to see me eventually. For the work that I was doing. I'd hope... I'd hope Peter wouldn't have to wait as long as I did."_

_Olivia squeezed his shoulder, "I'll be there as long as he is. Just like I'll stop by to check on you too."_

Walter nodded slowly, taking this in. He brought a fist up to his chest and flicked his wrist as if he were counting out a tempo, "One, two... thirty... one... you see it's – it's his birthday today!" he announced loudly. Olivia ran a hand over the top of her hair and then swiped at her mouth as he burst about the small living quarters animatedly again. "I... have something... let me see... I'm nearly sure I have something for him."

He checked both of his robe pockets and then cheered, raising a piece of paper in the air, "Aha! Ha – this..." he flattened the paper out across his palm and glanced over it quietly. "Can you give him this? I should have remembered it before today but... well, maybe he mightn't have wanted to be reminded. He never was very keen on getting older, you see. Even as a child," he smiled wistfully.

Olivia took Walter's offering without a word. It was a homemade birthday card. Glittered. Quite a considerable amount of time and concentration must have went into the making of the thing because she knew how hard it was for the man to apply himself without forgetting his place; and it looked so much more than a quaint little child's drawing like some of Walter's previous work that donned her fridge at home. At the back of the page was a tiny verse. His penmanship was shaky and hard to read, but it didn't lack heart.

"Do you know...?" he started, smiling and trembling all at once. "The night before his fifth birthday he thought that if he didn't go to bed, he wouldn't have to wake up and not be four anymore."

Olivia grinned at that, "He sounded like a sweet little boy," she said, referring to his son of late.

"Oh!" he chuckled. "They were the best."


	8. Chapter 8

Olivia folded her right leg over her left knee and clasped her hands together, staring straight ahead. She was the picture of professionalism as she sat in Dr Sumner's office for the umpteenth time. She had actually been lucky to score this meeting in the first place because she wasn't due to see him until a further three weeks but persistence and two cancellations in his schedule allowed her such a slot.

"So... Agent Dunham," he glanced down at his diary as if he needed his memory jogged. "What can I do for you this time?"

"I'm here regarding Peter Bishop," she announced flatly. "It was actually my assistant you were talking with last time, I was otherwise engaged."

"Bishop, Bishop..." he rattled off. "Ah! Yes, sorry, excuse me. So many patients, so many names. But I do remember Peter. It's... hard _not_ to remember Peter."

She suspended her disbelief as he made a show of rooting about his desk before coming across a large black file underneath a few stray papers. Licking a thumb, he began flicking through the catalogue of inpatients, "Here we are. Bishop, Peter." He skimmed over the profile before meeting her knowing silence with a tight grin. "Your friend Peter is what we like to think of as... well, one of our little success stories."

"You'll have to pardon me Dr Sumner but I don't see anything remotely successful about him."

"When Peter first came to us he was easily one of the more difficult ones."

"To be fair to him, he wasn't so much as referred to a doctor. The way in which my office passed him over to your care facility was... sudden. He felt threatened."

"He was a little hot-headed, you mean? You know, he's punched out four nursing staff since he's been here and accosted several others."

"_Peter you can't just – you can't do things like this, do you understand? Are you even listening to me?" Olivia demanded, grabbing onto his arm and peering deep into his eyes. "You can't go around abusing the staff or – or they'll put you in solitary confinement and we mightn't even get to visit you anymore. Would you like that? Would you like us to stop coming?"_

_He said nothing. He just sat there. Breathing. Blinking. Not much else._

"_Then you really would be like Walter, wouldn't you?" she added spitefully before she could stop herself. A hand flew to her mouth immediately and she fell down onto her knees in front of him, pulling at both of his hands. "I didn't mean that. Look at me. Peter? I honestly didn't mean that the way it sounded."_

_He opened his mouth in retaliation or perhaps defence but then clammed up before thoughts could materialise into words at the feel of a trail of spit dripping from his bottom lip. She dried him with her sleeve, no longer repulsed by the idea, and tilted her head at him._

"_Peter, why did you hit that man? He was only trying to bathe you. I know it must be humiliating but it's his job. You have to let him get on with it."_

_He sighed, trying to look anywhere but right at her._

"_I'll tell you what. If we don't get this cleared up right now – because we do have to write up internal reviews on you separate from St. Claire's – it'll be Broyles you'll have to answer to. Now who would you prefer to deal with?"_

"_He pulled my... pants down."_

"_He was giving you a sponge bath, Peter!"_

"_He was laughing at me," he disagreed. "They do that... sometimes. Sometimes if they're... feeding you," he said, hesitating to clear his mouth. "Soup especially, they'll... purposely miss your mouth and spill it. I'm not a baby, 'Livia. Why don't you go... stick that in your stupid review?"_

"_I'll make an official complaint," she apologised half-heartedly, wiping again at his wet chin. It was hard to be patient with him at the best of times because his speech was very slow, but when he was being difficult, she found it next to impossible not to snap at him."But you have to be on your best behaviour. No one's going to believe your word over his if you attack the guy, Peter."_

"_Don't."_

"_Don't?" she sat back on her heels, bringing her hands to her thighs. "If I find out that you're lying to me-"_

"_I'd rather it go on record that I punched the guy."_

"_Don't be ridiculous."_

"_Don't be ridiculous? Me? Look at me 'Liv. How can I... how can I punch a guy?"_

"Five of those complaints were revoked due to insubstantial evidence. I think at the time the lack of witnesses compromised the claim. Added to the fact that the drugs he was dosed on, it just wasn't believable that he could stand upright without assistance nevermind taking a swing at one of your-"

"That's all well and good, Agent Dunham. But I can't just ignore that the claims of assault from my medical team haven't been isolated one-offs. Disregarding the outcome of them, it still doesn't change the fact that they kept happening. Just the other morning, in fact," Sumner raised his hand, showing her a plaster around his index finger, "I was on the receiving end of one of Peter's little tantrums."

"Oh, I hope you told him off," Olivia replied, perfectly reserved. "I'd hate to think he'd make a habit of biting people."

"Yes, quite," Sumner grew bored of her infinite patience, wondering when the conversation should turn. "Now, I understand you wanted to see me. I'm sorry to have lost you in a digression, but I was just highlighting that in some aspects we do recognise that he's come on leaps and bounds. Ignoring this week's little... fiasco with me."

"You know, I can't see him having the opportunity to bite you at all, Dr Sumner," Olivia couldn't resist. "Were you paying him a personal visit or something?"

"He was on one of my rounds. I like to do routine checks, make sure everything's in order. It can be very distressing around here for the doctors. I think they appreciate my grass roots approach to the running of this hospital. I'm not just some fancy director signing pay checks from the comfort of his own office. I like to familiarise myself with the patients when I can."

"By playing dentist? What were you doing, brushing his teeth?"

Sumner chuckled, pointing at her with his joined hands, "I like you Agent Dunham; and I can tell Peter likes you."

"Yes," she took a breath, sounding sceptical. "Whether he likes me or not really isn't the point of this meeting. I was actually here to discuss maintenance."

"I can assure you-"

"If I may stop you right there, Dr Sumner?" Olivia interrupted. "You're wasting my time as well as your own if you're prepared to sit here for half an hour to an hour discussing how well Peter's being looked after and debriefing me on the follow-up of Agent Farnsworth's meetings with you when we both know that that just... isn't the case."

Sumner looked marginally pissed off, but gestured with a wave of the hand that she may continue.

"Countless weeks in a row now we've visited him and a full dinner tray is sitting next to him, the food cold and untouched. If it weren't for us practically force feeding him, I don't see how he's being tended to. It just doesn't occur to him to pick the fork up himself. It's like it's beyond him or something, as if we're expecting the impossible."

_Olivia held the door open for a reluctant Broyles. She was daring enough by this stage in that she knew what to expect, willing to go on in ahead of him and then stand there like she was inviting him in. This would be his first visit and he hoped it would be a less depressing environment. But to his credit, it didn't stop him visiting on his intended monthly basis; sometimes with Charlie and sometimes without. Astrid was called away on a family-related issue but even if one of them couldn't make that week, they arranged that Peter would never be stewing alone._

_They found him sitting on his bed with a hand resting on his stomach. A helping of food, as ever, was on a grey plastic tray beside him. Today the selection appeared to be something akin to spaghetti but it could easily be instant noodles with an unhealthy dollop of puréed tomato sauce. His cook had a lot to answer for._

"_This doesn't get old," Olivia mumbled to herself but loud enough for Broyles to hear before she knelt down in front of him and took up his fork, twirling it about the congealed pasta. "This looks delicious, Peter. Have you tried it yet?"_

_His stomach rumbled beneath his hand but he turned away from her when she tried to pry his lips open, "Peter, not in front of..." she whispered, making eyes at Broyles. "Come on now. You wouldn't want to show yourself up, would you? I know for a fact that you're hungry."_

"_Can he talk?"_

_Olivia looked at Peter fondly and released a breath, realising that he wasn't going to be talking anytime soon just to prove himself. She set the fork down and rubbed his arm, swivelling round to Broyles while still crouching by the bed, "Eventually. He likes to take his time, don't you Peter? Sometimes it's hard to get you to shut up," she teased. Then she remembered her boss. "He... yes he can talk. But it's not exactly his favourite pastime really."_

"_Why?" Broyles frowned curiously. "Surely talking is about the least he can do."_

"_Well," Olivia excused him, trying as well to include him in the conversation and not like a piece of furniture whether he was prepared to contribute or not, "I guess he's just a quiet kind of guy. Aren't you?"_

_Peter caught Broyles' eye and refused to look away, unflinching. Until his stomach growled again, in which Olivia pulled his attention towards the fork once more._

"Agent Dunham, if you realised how much tax payers money it would cost just to have even _one_ patient being monitored above the quality of care that we here at St. Claire's pride ourselves on then-"

"I'm not taking issue with hospital expenditures and incomes – I understand the importance of cutting costs and budgeting but I don't understand how you can justify that green leather-backed _throne_ you sit on day in, day out when there's a young man left to starve on his own six out of seven days of the week. If even you extended his visiting hours – two days, three days, we'd be here."

"I don't think it's in Peter's best interests if he were introduced to other people besides those that work here too frequently. He could become used to you, grow dependent on the outside. It might depress him."

"He's already used to us," Olivia scowled at the man's dire sense of logic. She nearly suggested that he needed to take up permanent residency in his own padded cell but somehow she couldn't see that one going over so well. "There must be something you're prepared to do? Like, I don't know, scale back his medicine and maybe he'll have a bit more independence. That's very important to him."

"He's on a very steady diet of pills," Sumner wasn't budging. "If I start chopping and changing his prescriptions on a whim before he finishes his course, he'll run the risk of becoming ill and I can't have that on my good conscience."

"So let me get this straight, because I will be requiring written minutes, you can't let him feed himself and you can't make sure there'll be someone there to feed him on the days that we aren't here?"

"Let me assure you, he does eat."

"I'm telling you now that he doesn't. I seen him two days ago, same story."

"Would you be happier if we moved him into the cafeteria with the rest of his inmates during meal times?" Sumner compromised, looking down at Peter's file. "Because it says right here that he refuses to interact with them – he has recreational time just like the others. He's allowed to sit outside, play games and use art materials but he refuses Agent Dunham. He refuses and that's his right. If he wants us to leave him be, it's his call. But he'll spend his time-out in his room. It's not fair to the other patients if my staff are wasting time trying to coerce him out of his shell. Unless the government's willing to donate a considerable amount of money on his behalf, I just don't have the resources for the one-on-one you're asking here."

Olivia set her jaw, finding his whole presence patronising and fulsome, "Even if we're talking about the clichéd kicking and screaming, yes, it would be much appreciated if you could make sure that he eats in the cafeteria under staff supervision from now on."

Sumner cleared his throat, picking up a pen and scribbling quickly on the bottom of Peter's patient profile page, "Duly noted."


End file.
